


Supporting Characters

by torombolo



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Jeronica, Vughead, background barchie, minor sweetvee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 07:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17504456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torombolo/pseuds/torombolo
Summary: Maybe this was inevitable, Jughead thought, staring at the couple in front of him.  He spared a glance at Veronica.  From the look on her face, she thought the same thing.  Betty and Archie.  Archie and Betty.  Perfect.  The American Dream.“Fine,” the dark-headed girl had told him, “I’m fine.”“Me too,” he said convincingly.  Whether he was trying to convince her or himself he wasn’t sure.





	Supporting Characters

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, I can't stop today. I love them together.
> 
> Also I love kudos and comments, neither of which you have to be a registered user to leave :D

Maybe this was inevitable, Jughead thought, staring at the couple in front of him.  He spared a glance at Veronica. From the look on her face, she thought the same thing.  Betty and Archie. Archie and Betty. Perfect. The American Dream.

 

They’d been an official couple for three weeks now, but perhaps an unofficial couple since the day they were born.  He thought back to when the lovebirds told their best friends and ex-lovers. What a tangled web we weave, he scoffed internally.

 

_ “Fine,” the dark-headed girl had told him, “I’m fine.” _

 

_ “Me too,” he said convincingly.  Whether he was trying to convince her or himself he wasn’t sure. _

 

Fine.  He thought he was fine.  He thought it should hurt more, but instead he felt like a supporting actor, an obstacle in a romantic comedy, the weakened angle of a love triangle.  Before him was an epic love story, and who was he to challenge destiny, to defy fate?

 

The two lovers got up to leave, saying their goodbyes to their friends.  Veronica smiled, ever the expert at social cues. When her ex left her view, her face fell blank.  Without speaking, she got up to leave. She nodded her goodbye to Jughead. Still fine.

  
  


*****

  
  


He always believed heartbreak to be a motivator for writers, but instead all of his creativity was gone.  He just didn’t feel  _ sad _ .  He felt nothing.  Maybe, he thought with a sardonic grin, I am just a supporting character after all.  Cast aside, writers neglecting to write in any emotions.

 

Because Jughead was fine.  Really, he was. And that’s what bothered him so much.  Shouldn’t he feel sad? Shouldn’t he feel despondent? He looked up from his spot in the corner booth at La Bonne Nuit, eyes searching for his former lover, hoping to get a reaction from his heart.

 

Instead, his eyes fell upon the other supporting character of this twisted, sick movie.  Veronica was sitting at the bar, eyes moving across the room. She didn’t look like she felt anything either.  Her gaze finally met his. She nodded in acknowledgement. 

 

The first time he felt acknowledged in weeks, since the main characters finally fell into each other’s arms.  Veronica held his gaze, and he felt seen, naked, vulnerable.

 

He nodded back.

  
  


*****

  
  


Veronica stood behind the counter at Pop’s.  The summer was brutal and sticky, the old air conditioning unit no match for the wet heat.  Sweat was marking her brow, dripping down the back of her neck, rolling down her chest into regions unknown.

 

The doorbell chimed, signalling the last customer of the night leaving.

 

Veronica moved around the booth, taking her rag and cleaner with her, ready to finish her shift and head home.  To nothing. She rounded the corner.

 

“Jughead,” she gripped her chest startledly.  “I didn’t see you there.”

 

He smiled wryly.  “Of course you didn’t.”

 

Veronica grimaced in return.  She nodded toward her rag. “Mind if I-”

 

Jughead raised his milkshake off the table, signalling for her to go ahead with her nightly routines.  She leaned over, a drop of sweat rolling down her cleavage onto the table. She didn’t notice.

 

He did.

  
  


*****

  
  


“You know,” she said, sitting down next to him on the couch in the student lounge, “I didn’t think it would be like this.”

 

Jughead looked over at her.  They hadn’t encountered each other save the occasional nod at Pop’s.  School had been back in session for two weeks. He still felt nothing.

 

Jughead closed his laptop, turning his body to look at the girl.  “Like what?”

 

Veronica sighed, resting her back against the sofa.  She closed her eyes, placing a finger against each temple, before removing them and turning to look at Jughead.

 

“Like I’m just existing,” she answered.  To passers-by it would have seemed ambiguous.  But Jughead understood.

 

The bell rang and Veronica got up, smoothing down her skirt and turning back towards Jughead.

 

“And you?” she prodded.

 

“Fine.  I’m fine.”

  
  


*****

  
  


The weeks passed and summer faded into fall.  Halloween was this weekend, and Cheryl was throwing an inaugural party at the newly rebuilt Thornhill.  Jughead didn’t like parties, had never gone to one where something awful didn’t happen at some point, where people’s most base desires reared their ugly heads.  But Archie had begged him, told him they hadn’t been able to see much of each other, so Jughead had reluctantly agreed.

 

The living room was smoky.  Jughead watched as his typically puritanical classmates devolved into debauchery and indulgence.  Cheryl was straddling Toni on the armchair. Reggie had pulled Josie into his lap, nudging her neck with his nose.  Even Betty and Archie were partaking in the revelry, starting with chaste kisses quickly turning into heated sessions, then pulling apart in embarrassment.  They grinned at each other like they just shared a funny joke, one only the two of them were in on.

 

Jughead got up from his place on the floor.  He needed to get out of there, take a walk. No one noticed when he left.

 

Jughead went outside and saw Veronica.  She wasn’t alone.

 

She had Sweet Pea pushed up against the stone wall of the manor.  It seemed as if she wasn’t immune to the lasciviousness that had infected their fellow partygoers.

 

Sweet Pea noticed his presence, winking at him.  Veronica noticed, turning around. Her eyes met Jughead and her lips curled upward.  Her face had an air of victory. ‘See,’ it told him, ‘I’m fine.’

 

Jughead left shortly after.

  
  


*****

  
  


It was the week of Thanksgiving.  Principal Weatherbee had dismissed the students early, letting them out half a day early to lengthen their fall break.  Veronica was walking to the parking lot, waiting for her driver.

 

She felt, rather than saw, someone fall in step next to her.  She looked over. Jughead was keeping pace, looking at her curiously.  She arched an eyebrow at him.

 

“How do you do it?” he asked.

 

“How do I do what?”

 

They kept walking in sync.  “How did you move on?”

 

She smirked.  “Have I?”

 

He scoffed.  Veronica had been attached to Sweet Pea at the hip since Halloween.  Or rather, the lips. She was a regular now at Serpent hangouts, her conservative skirts with their high-quality fabrics drawing attention to her, screaming at everyone ‘I don’t belong here.  I’m not one of you!’

 

“You and Sweet Pea sure have been getting friendly,” he retorted.

 

Veronica paused, and Jughead with her.

 

“I’m having fun.  It’ll never work out.”  Veronica resumed walking, Jughead taking several long strides to catch up with her.

 

“So you’re just leading him on, then?” he asked, bitterness seeping through his words.  Veronica turned to him.

 

“Au contraire, Torombolo.  Sweet Pea doesn’t want me.”  Her eyes had a glint in them, a whisper of a secret, begging for him to try and pull it out of her.  He decided to indulge her.

 

“It seems as if he does.  I’ve known him for a while now, Veronica.  He’s infatuated with you.”

 

Veronica paused once more, placing her hand on Jughead’s chest.  His heart started racing. She picked at some lint on his shirt distractedly before letting her hand fall to her side.

 

“He loves the idea of me.  Getting to defile the Park Avenue Princess, sticking it to the man, an act of defiance against the shitty draw of the deck he got served in life.  No different than Archie.”

 

Jughead felt something tug inside him at the mention of his best friend.  Despite the feelings of resentment he always held toward his red-headed counterpart, he felt the need to defend him.

 

“Archie wasn’t with you for some misguided sense of retribution against society, Veronica,” Jughead tried to persuade.  “I saw Archie. He was in love with you.”

 

Veronica scoffed mockingly.  “Yes, his love is quite apparent.  No, Archie wasn’t motivated by the same chip on his shoulder that Sweet Pea carries around.  But Archie wasn’t in love with me. He was in love with the socialite, the mysterious girl from out-of-town that made him feel special, made him feel like he wasn’t just some other small-town boy.  But he wasn’t in love with Veronica Lodge.”

 

At that, she looked at him with pity in her eyes.  It made him feel disgusted and indulgent all at once.  She raised her hand to his face, resting it gently against his cheek.

 

“Forsythe Pendleton the Third.  The boy from the wrong side of the tracks.  The intellect. The ultimate key to ridding Betty of her good girl image.  I’m sorry she could never see you, either.”

 

Her driver had pulled around while they were talking.  She released him from her gaze and got in the car, leaving him and his demons all alone.

  
  


*****

  
  


Thanksgiving had come and gone.  Snow was coating the sky, slowly covering the ground until all hints of grass and dirt and the earth and warmth were erased from view.  This, Jughead thought, was how he felt. Like he was in the depths of the coldest ice age, nothing to see for miles except the blank white abyss.

 

Veronica was hosting a Christmas event at La Bonne Nuit in an effort to drive up sales during her slow season.  Jughead had agreed to come, albeit reluctantly, after a personal invite from the proprietor herself.

 

He sat in his usual booth in the back corner, not bothering with social niceties.  Veronica slid in the seat across from him.

 

“Brooding away in the abyss, Forsythe?” she asked.  Calling him by his legal name was a new habit of hers.

 

“Guess I’m just not in the Christmas spirit this year.”

 

She looked at him, held his gaze for what, to anyone else, would be an uncomfortable length of time.  He felt her foot slide against his calf, stroking it up and down.

 

Finally, she spoke, that same pity in her eyes.  “So apathetic, Jones.” He looked back at her with antipathy filling his eyes.  Her mouth quirked into the slightest smile.

 

“So he does feel,” she murmured, stepping out of the booth and going back to her hostess duties.

  
  


*****

  
  


Jughead realized, after the start of the new year, that he may have made a subconscious resolution.  Something about his last conversation with Veronica had been nagging him for the past several weeks.

 

‘ _ So he does feel.’  _  He kept repeating it in his head, a mantra that drove his every waking thought.  The problem was, he thought bitterly, that he only felt around  _ her. _  It was as if the two were trapped together in some bizzare dimension, the only two who seemed to actually see the world around them.

 

And so, with that thought in mind, he set out to be around Veronica as much as possible.  He didn’t realize he was doing it until he made the conscious decision to not go to Pop’s one night, and, as he sat in the living room and his father asked him what he was doing home, he realized he decided not to go because Veronica was not working tonight.

 

He didn’t know how, nor did he know when, but at some point, he had memorized her work schedule.  And then decided to base his visits to the locally-iconic diner around whether or not he would get to be in his presence.

 

It wasn’t as if she made him feel  _ good _ ; no, oftentimes he was met with annoyance, a small quarrel here, some slight bickering there.  But she still made him feel  _ something _ .

 

He knew this couldn’t be healthy.  It was the same rationale of those who self-harmed.  Being addicted to just feeling, even when it wasn’t beneficial.

 

So the next night, when he knew Veronica had a shift at Pop’s, he stayed home once more.

  
  


*****

 

Valentine’s Day was coming up.  Everywhere Jughead looked he saw happy couples, so oblivious to their own realities, so caught up in love that they couldn’t see the world around them.  Couldn’t see him. 

 

Betty and Archie surely couldn’t.  Their one-year anniversary was coming up in a month.  One year that Jughead was numb, distant, every movement on auto-pilot.  He looked at them, so enamoured with each other, but held no resentment toward the two.  Just reluctant acceptance.

 

He was brought out of his thoughts when he felt a body plop down next to him on the sofa.  He looked over to see Veronica staring straight ahead. He followed her gaze and smirked; at least, he thought, he wasn’t the only one distracted by the scene in front of them.  Archie and Betty hadn’t noticed their friend’s arrival.

 

Veronica leaned toward him, and Jughead’s heart started to race.  She got next to his ear, her thigh pressing against his as they sat together, ignored by the world around them.

 

“You weren’t at the diner last night,” she whispered.  His breath caught. He wanted to look at her, to get lost in the depths of her dark eyes, but he was scared that he’d get sucked into a black hole instead.

 

She brushed some hair behind his ear.  He shivered. “Don’t deprive me again,” she commanded, then got up to leave.

  
  


*****

  
  


Jughead heeded her advice, now a permanent fixture at Pop’s or La Bonne Nuit anytime Veronica was working.  And she was working constantly.

 

He admired her.  Her determination, her strength.  More than anything, though, he admired how she took all his first impressions of her, his initial notions of her being nothing more than a vapid rich girl, and she destroyed them.  Everything he thought about her she ripped to shreds, one by one, until she was left bare, naked before him.

 

She would take breaks throughout her shift and go over to him.  Sometimes they would chat. Sometimes their conversations would devolve into arguments over which film should have won the 1980 Best Picture award at the Oscars.  Sometimes they wouldn’t talk at all.

 

He became more and more accustomed to her touches.  The light graze of her arm against his. Her hand gently resting against his thigh, hidden from the view of the outside world.  Her foot resting against his calf. Her touches were so light that he wasn’t certain they were intentional. But he knew, in the dark recesses of his mind, that they were.  Everything Veronica Lodge did was intentional.

  
  


*****

 

Jughead sipped his coffee, staring at the screen in front of him.  His writer’s block was over, passed so effortlessly that he wasn’t sure it ever truly existed, or if it was just a knee-jerk reaction to such a sudden change in his life.

 

It was well past his normal bedtime for a school night, but Veronica had to work late.  Two of her waitresses and one of the cooks had called out, the flu spreading quickly throughout the employees of the diner.  She sent Pop home, respecting the man too much to make him cover shifts longer than eight hours.

 

Finally, the last customer left and Veronica decided to close up shop, posting a handwritten door on the note that they would resume operations in the morning.  She walked over to Jughead and hopped onto the bar countertop across from his booth. She grinned at him.

 

“Glad to see you writing again, Forsythe,” and, although there was a glint of humour in her eyes, he believed her.  He stared at her, his face heating, but he wouldn’t turn away.

 

“How is the next classic Americana going?” she asked, her grin not wavering under the scrutiny of his gaze.

 

He continued to stare, finally ripping his eyes away from her as they were interrupted by a knock on the door.  Veronica yelled out that they were closed. The knocking ceased and the two were brought back to their conversation.

 

“Well,” he answered.  “The writing is going well.”

 

She smirked at him.  “No more writer’s block?” she asked, and his eyes burrowed in confusion.  He never spoke with her about his issues with writing. How could she know?

 

But the voice in the back of his head, the voice that had been dissecting every little interaction he shared with the girl across from him, answered.  Because, it said, she knows everything about you.

 

“No more writer’s block.  I’ve stumbled into some-” he paused, thinking of the right word, “inspiration.”

 

Veronica shifted on the counter, her legs parting slightly, her skirt shifting upwards almost imperceptibly.  Was it an accident? Of course not, he knew. Nothing Veronica Lodge did was ever an accident. She was doing this with intention, taunting him, teasing him with her body.  With promises of heaven and hell and angels and demons all wrapped up into one neat little 5’ 2” package.

 

Veronica was playing games.  He should be mad. Any rational person would be upset by someone toying with them.  But he needed this, need her, craved her mockery, got off on her ridicule. Because despite her intentions, she saw him.  She knew what she was doing, knew how to push his buttons, knew how to excite him and anger him and cause every emotion in between.

 

He got up.  “I need to get going,” he declared, more to himself than to her.  He hurriedly shoved his laptop into his backpack and turned around.  Veronica was in front of him. He stilled, unable to move.

 

She lowered her lashes, her eyes darkening.  “Goodnight, Forsythe.” Those two words meaning more than any grand speech ever could.  She arched up on her toes, raising her lips to his head. And when he thought she was going to kiss his lips, she turned away and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek instead.

 

Jughead nodded, grabbing his backpack and exiting, not looking back.

  
  


*****

  
  


Memorial Day weekend.  School was out for the summer, and Cheryl was throwing her annual end-of-semester pool party at Thornhill.  Not one for pools or parties, Jughead had declined, before being told that he  _ would _ be there by Cheryl or else.

 

So here he was, sitting under an umbrella near the edge of the patio, trying to sink into the shadows.  He saw Veronica from a distance. She was playing chicken, her thighs resting on either side of Sweet Pea’s head while her arms were in battle against Betty, trying to topple her friend off of Archie’s shoulders.

 

She was triumphant, but Jughead never had any doubt.

 

After their victory, Sweet Pea lowered Veronica, grabbing her ass and pulling her down towards him.  She giggled, splashing him with water as he grabbed her by her waist and pulled her flush against him.  He tried to kiss her, but she dodged with mirth, instead grabbing his head and pulling it under water.

 

Several minutes had passed and Jughead was greeted with new company.

 

“I can’t tell if she’s into me, man.  I mean, we have a good time together, but sometimes I feel like I could go away forever and she wouldn’t bat an eye,” Sweet Pea complained, sitting down next to his friend.

 

How right you are, Jughead thought.  Sweet Pea may have had her physically, which was reason enough to harbor some resentment towards his friend, but we would never have her mind, her heart, her soul.  Jughead wasn’t certain if he would either, but he knew she at least noticed his absence.

 

The sun fell into the distance and was replaced by the clearest night.  No clouds in sight, and the moon and stars provided all the illumination necessary for the winding down party.

 

The remaining guests had moved into the cabana, Jughead sitting on a lounge chair near the edge.  Toni was pouring shots for everyone and Cheryl was handing them out like free candy. Veronica walked over to Jughead.

 

“Can the great Serpent King not handle a little liquor?” she asked teasingly.  He rolled his eyes, grabbing the offered shot with his hand. He raised it up to her.  “Cheers,” she quipped, before both downed the harsh liquor. She sat down next to them, the feeling of her naked thigh rubbing against him making him realize just how exposed she was.  He looked her over, but she caught him.

 

She grinned conspiratorially, pressing her thigh harder against his, her intent obvious.  She leaned into him, her torso resting against his as she got close to his ear. “Like what you see, Forsythe?”

 

He stared at her darkly, not appreciating being called out.  She winked, then faced forward to engage in conversation with other guests.  What those guests didn’t see, however, was her hand lightly tracing up and down his back, hidden by the shadows.

 

The alcohol combined with the nearly naked girl sitting next to him forced blood to below his belt.  His shorts felt constricting, but he hid his growing erection with a beach towel. Veronica looked down at the striped linen.  The smallest smile formed on her lips. Of course she knew, he thought. He’s her favorite book.

  
  


*****

  
  


It was hot again.  The air conditioning had caused the power to get overloaded, and Veronica was currently directing customers toward the exit.  She went over to Jughead and told him to call the Serpents, tell them they could come get any food they wanted out of the fridge and freezer before they went bad.

 

The final box was removed from the walk-in, and Veronica removed her apron.  She ran her hands through her hair, trying to work-in the sweat that was currently dripping down the back of her neck.  She opened the freezer door, standing in front of it, hoping that the air would cool down her body. Jughead walked back into the kitchen.

 

“You’re just letting all the air out.  You’d be better off standing in it,” he said, critiquing her current method.

 

She walked up to him, a mischievous glint in her eye.  Reaching for his hand, she tugged him toward the freezer, letting the door close behind them.

 

The room was no bigger than his former bedroom-closet under the stairs at the high school.  Most assuredly not big enough to accommodate two people. And because the power was out, they were left in nearly complete darkness, the only light coming from a small battery-operated circular light above the door.

 

It cast a peculiar shadow on her, sweat glinting in the low lighting, her face cast in shadows.

 

Jughead was uncertain on how to proceed.  When he offered his suggestion he did not expect this outcome.  Veronica laughed at his confusion. “This was your idea, Forsythe, was it not?” she asked, a dare in her question.  This wasn’t his idea. She knew that. She was teasing him again, always goading him for a reaction. Maybe this time he would give her one.

 

“It was,” he stated slowly, leaning forward just slightly, causing her to press her back against the wall.  She faltered, her confidence wavering, before she slipped her face back into a mask of poise. He wouldn’t let her out-posture him this time, though, continuing to invade her personal space by pressing his thigh against her legs, only slightly, but enough to get her attention.

 

She looked at him, then grinned.  Rather than backing down, she pressed her center against him harder.  There was no mistaking the feathery breath that left her lips. But Jughead couldn’t stop now.  This, this thing between the two of them had been going on for over a year now. And every time she gained the upper hand.  Not this time.

 

“You’re right, Veronica.  It is cooler in here. But you’re still so flushed.  Something bothering you,” he asked, his voice dripping with saccharine sweetness while his fingers toyed with the hem of her skirt.

 

Veronica ground down against his thigh.  “Well, yes, actually,” she panted, “I have a problem you see, and I’m afraid I need some help with it.”

 

She was going to be the death of him.  This freezer may as well have been hell.  Or heaven. Or maybe just purgatory and he would exit its doors and no longer exist on this earth.

 

No more pretending, he thought determinedly.  This had to end now. For the past year, he felt nothing.  He was an empty, barren wasteland, but then she would show up and he would be renewed.  He was a man trapped in a desert and she was the last drop of water in the canteen. He couldn’t get enough of her, wanted more, needed it.

 

He wanted to be with her, be in her, possess every fragment of her being, worship at the altar of Veronica Lodge.  With a grunt, he pushed her fully against the wall, lifting her up slightly with his thigh. She moaned lowly, but was cut off by his lips on hers.

 

If Betty was sweet and angelic and all things right with the world, then Veronica was everything else.  Veronica was the universe, enveloping him in her presence, drowning him in her infinite shores, a goddess, devoid of right and wrong and good and bad.  She was everything he loved and everything he hated, and she was offering him the world with the taste of her lips.

 

And so, like any good member of a congregation, he got down on his knees, kissing every inch of skin he could reach, wanting to consume her all at once while also desiring to make this moment last forever.

 

He pushed her skirt up over her hips, pressing harsh kisses to her inner thighs.  Her hands were in his hair, urging him to complete his lustful prayer. Her silk panties were stained with evidence of his worship, and he felt more proud than ever.  He took the fabric in his hand, pulling it deliberately down her legs. When she was finally freed, he stared at her center, in awe of the sight in front of him. That he was able to bring this powerful celestial being down to earth, to have her spread wantonly for him, her chest heaving, her breath coming in short pants, her eyes lidded in such innate hunger, all of it for his benefit.

 

He pressed his lips to her opening, giving a light kiss, before taking his tongue and licking up the length of her core.  She screamed into the air, pushing his head tighter against her. He continued to lick in earnest, picking up the pace before moving up to focus on her clit.  He gave it an experimental suck, earning an ‘Oh God’ from the woman in front of him, before turning all attention to the small essence of her power.

 

She was quickly losing control, unable to breathe regularly.  The power had come back on in the diner, harsh light illuminating the couple, but she could see nothing.  He was blinding her, ripping away her senses, drowning her in his ministrations.

 

He inserted a finger into her, testing her.  She was so wet; her nectar running down her thighs, down his chin, coating his fingers.  He inserted one more, and began pumping at a languid pace while still giving his mouth’s full attention to her clit.  She was close, he could tell. She was no longer moaning, or making any noise at all. Her brows were furrowed, a look of determination in the knitting of her forehead.  

 

He inserted a third finger, and she came.  It felt like the universe was imploding, pulling everything toward her.  She leaned fully against the wall, trying to catch her breath, before pulling him up.  She made quick work of his belt, dropping his pants to the floor. He lifted her by her thighs, pinned her against the wall.  He was positioned at her center. Mere inches were separating him from his destiny. She looked him in the eyes, desperation masking her features.

 

It only took one word to unravel him, to make him lose all sense of reality, to think that  _ this _ was his life now, Veronica Lodge.  “Please,” she said meekly, and Jughead Jones ceased to exist.

 

He pushed into her with conviction, knowing that this was what he was meant to do.  His hips moved harshly, eliciting moans from the girl in front of him.

 

He moved with purpose, with intent, to take Veronica and make them one, to combine their bodies and their souls together.  Veronica was crying, so overwhelmed by his presence, and Jughead looked up to the ceiling, wishing he could thank the stars for this beautiful, powerful woman.

 

She pushed him away and turned from him, bending over and grabbing her ankles.  Jughead could have died then and there. He grabbed her hips, and pushed himself forward.  He didn’t know it was possible to be this deep inside someone, to be this consumed by another person.  She enveloped his member and it felt like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle falling into place.

 

He thrust into her mercilessly, not caring how rough he was being, because Veronica could take it.  She needed him as much as he needed her. In this world filled with such obliviousness, such ignorance and naivety, they were the only two who were real.

 

He continued to thrust punishingly, Veronica’s yells echoing in the freezer, until she stilled against him and came again.  Jughead couldn’t last any longer. He had denied himself for the past year; he couldn’t do it anymore. With one final grunt, he spilled into her, leaning forward over her, trying to catch his breath.

 

She collapsed to the ground in exhaustion, pulling him down with her.  They stayed like that, exposed to each other, reveling in their first experience together, until the freezer had regained too much of its frigid air, and he pulled her up.

 

They got dressed and walked out together.  He got them a booth as she made them some milkshakes.  As they sat alone together in the diner, he thought, for the first time, that maybe he was the main character after all.  And rather than some trivial romantic comedy, the kind that Archie and Betty would star in, he and Veronica shared something more epic, more transcendent, more special than any other two people on the planet.

  
  
  



End file.
